


Holy, Dirty and Unforgettable

by Faline (rubberbisquit)



Series: What's Left of the Flag [5]
Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbisquit/pseuds/Faline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angela MacDonald.  A strange woman with a history locked behind tightly sealed bomb shelter doors.  She is friend and enemy both.  Beck and Heather are stuck on a whirlwind ride as they start to really fight their way through the next American Civil War and learn what it means to share their lives in their crazy world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When she was in training, Mac would jingle spare change in her pocket. She would always find the two largest coins and bookend the others between them and then juggle all of them. She was never sure where the habit originated from but she remembered the exact moment when she'd stopped.

One of her first training missions, out in the world, she'd been assigned to tail someone. Now, she couldn't even give a name under the threat of death. Then, though, she'd spent days researching the best covers and ways to follow her mark. She'd picked a student as her fake identification, blending her actual youth with the manners she'd developed state-side.

No one would have looked at her twice. They would have simply dismissed her as a silly American lost in Tel Aviv and about to get robbed. She'd approached silently and had set up a good post in an alley a hundred yards or so away from the man she was following.

It had been night. And it had been uncommonly dark. Moonless and motionless she had stood for almost an hour taking surveillance photos and listening in to a benign conversation as the man chatted with a friend. And her hand had crept to her pocket and she had started to shuffle her coins.

The jangle shot out in the quiet street. The man's two body guards made her almost instantly. She managed to turn and flee; the bullet she caught in her lower back was just their way of saying good bye. Twenty one days later she was finally walking again without excruciating pain. That was the day her commander forced seven hundred push ups out of her. She'd gone back to the med bay later that evening and was laid up an additional ten days.

She never took change again when she was in training, or when she was finally cleared for active missions.

Mac had been in the States for so long now that she had gotten into the habit of carrying around change in her pocket when she'd been at the school and the business. After the bombs, she'd persisted for whatever reasons. She'd been charged twice for HAM radio usage and supposed that it had seemed like a good idea.

Mac grinned to herself, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. Oliver, the very same Oliver that had started the overthrow of the ASA in Downtown Jericho with his WWII era Russian sniper rifle, was prone to staring at her with great googly eyes anytime they ran in to one another.

The cool breeze of the evening brushed across Mac's skin and her eyes fluttered open. Her hand went to her pocket and she started shuffling the two quarters, three dimes, and six pennies she had squirreled away at the moment. Across the street from her alley, Bailey's was lit like an overexcited Christmas tree in a newly wed couple's living room. Too many lights, too many decorations, none of them matching but all put up with excitement and good intent.

Her view point wasn't fantastic, but she could see Jake Green inside; he was drinking at a table by the window. The only window still intact after the bombs and explosions earlier in the week.

Between her fingers the quarters clacked together.

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of a hand gun being cocked right behind her ear. “Pull your hand out slowly and put it in the air, along with the other one.”

She first equated her combat mode to the feeling of jumping into an icy river. Fight or Flight is always on full bore at that moment, when the cold water flushes over every pore and freezes to the bone. You can either swim with the current or you can flounder, trying to struggle against the river that wants to swallow you.

Her blood ran cold as her hands raised. They reached her shoulders when she made her move.

Her assailant was expecting the move and jumped back as she lunged for the gun. Twisting to face the man, she ducked and faked left. Going right, her elbow connected solidly with the man's solar plexus. She was looking forward to taking his feet out from under him when the butt of the gun came down hard on her temple.

Mac fought the blackness that was washing over her hard and prevailed in time to see the man, a well built black man about three inches taller than her, throw a vicious right hook at her face.

Mac went limp in her top half and swayed away from the shot. His fist connected with air alone and he was off balance, momentarily. She didn't wait for a better chance and brought her right foot up for a crescent kick. It was usually effective at rendering enemies unconscious.

He blocked her kick easily and moved to point the gun at her face again. She spun, knocking the weapon away from herself while twisting it from her grasp. She now had the gun, a well weighted Glock 9 millimeter. Finishing the spin she brought the weapon straight up and aimed it at his head.

A Jericho 941 .45 was pointed back at her own head. She frown and wiggled her butt gently, confirming that her gun, that she had placed at the small of her back before leaving her house that morning, had been plucked from her waist band while she was spinning by this man. And she hadn't noticed.

“You're good.”

“And you're Mossad.”

The word hung in the air, heavy between the two of them. She COULD shoot. He was probably expecting that sort of reaction. Would be watching for tells. She really didn't want to get shot. That would be difficult to explain.

“Now now, there's no need to blow cover here unless we're both sharing. Who are you working for? NSA? FBI? This is a Glock after all. Forty caliber.”

He gave a small half smile before asking her to lower her weapon. She laughed and asked him to do the same. Tense moments passed while they stared each other down. “You're Hawkins, aren't you? Heather talked about you a little. I figured you'd be in there, but I recognize everyone in that building.” Her head jerked behind her slightly, back towards Bailey's.

“I've been tracking you since we got in to town. Hearing about a lone woman with a .50 sniper rifle in Jericho, Kansas who I had NO idea existed during the six months I stayed here raised some suspicions. I'm glad they're founded in some fact. I'd feel really foolish for holding a gun on an unarmed and innocent woman.”

She smiled then in her cold and calculating manner than many townspeople were seeing for the first time. From what Heather had told her about Hawkins, he claimed to be FBI. Part of a sting operation to break up the terrorist attack before it'd taken place.

The intel she had from before the bombs had put her in Jericho a full year and a half before the bombs had gone off. It would seem strange that this agent hadn't done his research on all the town's occupants. Then again, it was possible that he was distracted. Her information had him with a handler and three other agents, of which she had neither seen nor heard of.

Mac lowered her weapon. “Ya caught me copper. What are you going to do now?”

Holding her own gun on her for a few extra moments, Hawkins finally lowered the firearm. “I'm going to ask for my weapon back, return yours, and then suggest that we find a quiet place that we can talk.”

Her smile returned. It was still cold and it still felt calculating, at least to Hawkins, but there was relief there as well. They exchanged weapons. Hawkins motioned for her to move ahead of him. “I'm going to have to talk to my CO before divulging anything. You understand, right?” She threw the question back at him, a half grin on her face in a teasing manner.

She hit the ground, out cold, and Hawkins put his gun pack in it's holster at his side. Gazing down on the body at his feet, he let out a heavy sigh before bending over and picking the woman up. She was tossed over a shoulder and he headed towards the Humvee Chavez had waiting two blocks over.

It was looking to be a long night for the three of them.

\------- _Hey moon, please forget to fall down_ \-------

Hawkins's fist connected solidly with the soft cheek of the woman handcuffed to the chair in front of him. Her head snapped to the side and she was slow in bringing her gaze back to him. But she did, sure enough, spitting blood on to his shoe before looking up at him.

Behind him, Chavez chuckled low in his throat. “The bitch is hard core.”

Hawkins appraised 'Angela'. Her left cheek, the one he'd just bashed, was swelling horribly. The other cheek had split, along with her lip, and he'd moved to fresh space. He could see blood dripping from her hair line and the right eye was almost completely swollen shut.

He had been working her for the better part of an hour and she hadn't cracked.

It was then that she decided to grin up at him, blood dripping freely from where she'd bit into her own cheek during one of his more violent punches.

“Yes, hard core indeed.” Hawkins knelt in front of her, resting easily on his heels. “We've already been inside your bunker. Obviously, we lack some skills to crack your files but we will. I've been in contact with Columbus. They have their best hacker this side of the Mississippi at our beck and call.” He put a hand on her shoulder, which was clearly dislocated. Pushing softly, but firmly, he managed to get a wince out of her. “Tell me what your real name is and why you were sent to Jericho.”

She was silent in front of them, her eyes still raised in defiance and her teeth still bared, still streaked with her own blood.

“This is pointless Hawkins. She's too well trained to give us anything.”

Hawkins eyes flickered away from Angela's face, to the wall behind her head, and she grinned wider at his obvious frustration with the situation. Standing, the man turned and faced his colleague. The two walked to the far side of the room and spoke softly.

“There's no rush on this one Robert. We've got her in custody and so far we don't have any indication that she's actually harmed anyone that hasn't come from Cheyenne.” Chavez was trying his hardest to placate his friend. They'd just returned from a not so pleasant road trip from Texas and Hawkins hadn't even seen his family yet.

Hawkins growled in frustration and Chavez sighed. “What are you more upset about? The fact that she's not talking or the fact that she was here under your nose the whole time?”

Death in his eyes, Hawkins' mouth twisted in to a sneer and he stalked back to the woman secured to the chair. Circling to her back, he regarded her handcuffed hands; the cold metal was wound through the metal supports on the furniture. She wasn't going anywhere any time soon. He put his hands on her shoulders once more and he hoped like hell the pain from the dislocation was enough to wipe the stupid smile off her face.

Bringing his head down to her level he whispered in to her ear, “One more time. What is your real name and why did the Mossad send you here?”

She shuddered as his grip tightened and her head fell forward. She took one deep breath and then brought her head up with a snap, cracking him in the nose with it. Pain shot through his face. Stumbling back, he groaned and brought his hand up. It came away bloody. Chavez straightened on the other side of the room and took a step forward. Hawkins shook his head.

He raised one combat boot clad foot and brought it down hard on her left wrist. Audibly, the bones cracked moments before she screamed and pitched forward, jerking violently in an attempt to escape. He brought his foot back up and slammed it down on the other wrist. More screams followed as the struggling ceased; Angela slumped over.

Satisfied that she got the message that he didn't appreciate a broken nose, Hawkins circled back around and knelt in front of her again. The stupid grin had left her face. Snot dripped freely and mixed with the tears that she cried. Somewhere around her chin the mess turned red with the blood still seeping from her wounds. He cupped her face, bringing her gaze up to him.

“I have the feeling we're both working towards the same goal. Until I can confirm that, I will attempt to collect the information that I have asked for. Your lack of cooperation will only make this harder. Now, I'm going to knock you out. When you wake up, your wrists will be swollen because I have broken the bones. It will probably cut off circulation to your hands. I've heard about your prowess with a gun. You can imagine how effective you'll be after all ten of those feminine digits are amputated.”

He allowed his words to soak in to her brain. Her eyes hardened and he knew he'd finally reached the part of her brain responsible for her survival instinct. “I'm going to ask you one last time. What is your real name and why did the Mossad send you here?”

Again her mouth split in to a bloody smile. She coughed, spraying flecks of bloody spit over his face. When she spoke, her words were as clear as possible, given her split lip. “Kish m'in toukhes.”

His fist connected solidly with her chin; her head jerked and she was sent sprawling in to the land of unconsciousness.

\- .... . / - .-. ..- - .... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / -... . -.-. -.- --- -. ...

He'd only been gone a week and a half. Not even that. Nine days.

Taking a deep swig of the home brew Mary had placed in front of him, Jake looked out over the darkened Main Street he had known his whole life. There were two working streetlights. The one in front of town hall illuminated the United States flag that was flapping in the slight breeze of the Spring evening. Below it hung his Father's flag that he'd heard Gray had hung up himself.

That at least brought a smile to his face. It was a reminder of why they fought. Why so many lives had been given. It reminded him why he had made the terrifying journey to Texas and why he'd come back home, to the middle of a war zone.

The other lamp light was across the street. It was tilted at a perilous angle, looking worse for the wear from what he'd been told was the explosion of one vehicle and the hasty burning of seven more just four days prior. Compliments of a computer guru who'd been mostly absent from the struggles of post-war Jericho. Jake had never met this Mac and Heather had never mentioned her. That left a sting he wasn't pleased about.

The vehicles were gone but the scars on his town were still evident. A black hole in the J and R building, just behind the aforementioned streetlight, made him smile as well. As bad as the situation was now, he knew that he would keep fighting.

If he had to, he would single-handedly bring down the AS government, even if it meant putting a bullet in to the head of the corrupt president and this Valente fellow calling the shots.

Next to him, Emily nudged his elbow, a soft smile on her face. He glanced back at her, smiling in return.

What he fought for, what they all for, was worth every moment of pain.

“Where did Hawkins get off to?”

Her words caused his eyes to peruse the building quickly. Hawkins had come in with them. He was absent now, however, along with Chavez. Also conspicuously absent were Heather, Mac, and Oliver, the Ranger Jake had been the most cautious with. It seemed that Oliver had held off the beginning stages of the AS invasion days prior and Jake had been hoping to give him thanks for his quick thinking.

He'd also wanted to talk to Heather. Although Bailey's was not the venue he'd been hoping for, he was willing to have the conversation anywhere possible. There was still the matter, in his mind, of Major Beck. He wasn't all that sure he was willing to forgive easily the matter of his imprisonment at the Major's hands.

Jake gave Emily a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her hand. His lips lingered and he breathed in the scent of her, happy to have been given the chance to get back to her. He patted her hip, signaling for her to move out of the booth and let him by.

Standing, he drained the last of his beer. “I'm going to see if I can't find him, maybe Heather too.” Emily's smile was now blinding as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He took the time to hug her back before dropping a kiss on her head.

Those in the bar that witnessed the exchanged shared their own smiles with one another. Everyone was glad to see Jake back and none the worse for wear after his journey.

Emily's eyes followed his leather clad back out the door.

Once outside of the building, Jake thought for a moment. Hawkins could be anywhere, really. Him and Chavez would have plans to make between the two of them before bringing Jake in. They'd want somewhere quiet, out of the way. Jake instantly thought of the hunting cabin. It would be a perfect spot for planning.

Before he left town, however, he wanted to talk to Heather. He needed to hear it from her, face to face, that one of his greatest adversaries was truly on their side.

Her house. He headed towards it, half way there before realizing that he should have just brought a vehicle and headed for the cabin straight after. He shook his head and continued on his way anyhow. He had all night. There was no rush.

..- .--. / .. -. / --- ..- .-. / -... . -.. .-. --- --- -- / .- ..-. - . .-. / - .... . / .-- .- .-.

Mac would be proud of her, she figured. Heather patiently waited in a closet, the door cracked slightly, as the night nurse cleared the corner from her rounds and headed back to her station. Giving the situation a few extra moments, Heather slipped out of her cover and made her way as silently as possible to the third door on the right.

To Edward.

She smiled inwardly at the familiarity she had with him now. The door gave way silently under her finger tips and she entered, making sure to close the door as quietly as she could.

Edward was asleep in bed. The soft rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic and reassuring. It drew her to him, moth to the flame and all that. Pulling up the chair next to his bed she planted her butt and just watched him. She didn't want to wake him, just be near by.

The worries of the world seemed pointless when she was here with him. She'd found the feeling exhilarating and intoxicating. A place with no worries.

He stirred in his sleep and his eyes blinked open. As soon as he realized she was there he smiled. “Hey beautiful.”

His words sent stabs of electricity through her body. She could feel the blush creep up her face. He'd been doing that recently. Giving her off-handed compliments disguised as greetings and other things. She loved it, but wouldn't admit.

“How do you feel?”

He sighed, sounding satisfied. “I'll let you know when I'm fully awake. What time is it anyway?”

“A little after ten. Jake and Hawkins got back about two hours ago. They brought back Parker. Introduced him as Chavez though.”

Beck frowned. “Lieutenant Parker? Why would they do that?”

Heather shrugged. “I have no idea. I just know he disappeared with Hawkins not too long after they arrived at the party. I don't think I even had a chance to say hello to any of them before sneaking over here.”

“Oh Heather. You should have at least said hello to Jake. He probably has questions that he needs you to answer for him. Most of them are probably about me too. Not something that should wait.”

She reached out, grasping his hand. She turned it over, palm up, and firmly placed her fingers between his. “Jake isn't going anywhere. And you're in the hospital. He can wait to be reassured, yet again, that you're really not evil.”

Beck wished he could take the regret out of his eyes to reassure her, but he knew it would be impossible. “I don't think you can really tell a man who's been tortured that the one who did the torturing is okay after all. That's something that takes time.”

Heather was silent for a moment, her eyes looking out the window in his room. She sighed once, deeply, before nodding. “He'll come around. He has to, after he hears what you've done for us.”

His voice was soft with his reply. “For you mostly.”

The blush came again to her skin. “However you justify it, you and your troops have become heroes. And that's not something this town is likely to forget any time soon Edward.”

As his name fell from her lips, he smiled again. He liked hearing her say it. It made this whole situation less about a war torn country and more about a love story.

“I need to tell you something and then I'm going to let you get back to sleep.”

She sounded nervous. It was unusual for this new Heather that was strong and willing to take on an entire military camp to make sure he was okay. Their eyes locked. Beck felt her admiration for him through her gaze and it warmed his whole body.

“I . . . think I'm falling in love with you. I'm not completely sure how I feel about it, but I think it'll be okay. If you don't feel the same way, I'll understand. You've gone through a lot and I know you need time and you'll get as much as you need. But I just want you to know how I feel. So you know that when you get better, and you get out of here, you'll have someone waiting for you and I won't be going anywhere.”

She was seeping emotions. Love and concern and possibly even worry that her admission would be rejected. Beck's heart broke when he saw the last cross her face. Didn't she know? Didn't she realize that he'd been worrying about falling in love with her for longer than he wanted to admit, especially to himself?

Her words were comfort though, despite the clear strain they put on both their minds. He brought her hand up, still clutched in his own, and kissed her fingers.

“Thank you.”

He didn't really know what else to say. He decided to forgo words and pulled on her arm lightly and brought his other hand up, mindful of the IV still stuck in the back of it.

Their lips met easily now, no longer steeped in worry that they would be rejected. They met now with an knowledge of things to come. Parting moments later, Heather kept close, resting her forehead on his.

“I think I'm falling in love with you too.”

She kissed him again, all worry and concern now far from her mind.

.-- .- - -.-. .... .. -. --. / - .... . / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. / ..-. .- .-.. .-.. / ..- .--.

From his view point at the door, Jake was able to hear the whispered words between his friend and what appeared to be her new beau. His grip on the door frame tightened when Beck returned Heather's confession and the emotion that flowed through his body was a little frightening.

He backed away slowly, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Nancy, the night nurse, looked up, confused, when he left only minutes after sweet talking his way in to see Major Beck. She rose and went to the Major's door. The sight of Heather curled up on the Major's good side, away from any position that might possibly hurt the man, made her smile.

She glanced back at the front doors when they slid open, allowing Jake to leave. Her eyes found the pair on the bed again and she closed the door. Nancy shook her head as she made her way back to the Nurse's Station. This was convoluted. Anyone who knew one of the three would be able to see that.

Jake's lungs filled with the cool air of the Kansas night and he sighed. He buried his hands in his pockets and walked towards the truck he'd talked Eric in to letting him borrow to get out to the cabin.

Beck and Heather.

Heather and Beck.

He'd only been gone nine days.

If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that the two of them had been circling each other for a while. Despite the wife and the crush that he was sure Heather was still holding on to for himself.

He didn't want to be honest though. He wanted it to feel like one of his friends wasn't betraying him by siding with someone he still thought of as the enemy. He wanted a hug from Heather and her promise that she was glad he was home.

Jake slid in to the driver's side and started the engine. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the cabin. He also did his best to not think about the pair in the hospital. He was mildly successful and had managed to work up a reasonable story for the situation by the time he'd pulled up to the wooden structure. Something about tequila. Heather never could handle her tequila.

There were lights on inside and a car parked outside. At least something was going according to plan. He saw Chavez on the porch, a cigarette hanging between his lips. The other man straightened as Jake pulled the truck up and cut the motor. Half way down the stairs, Chavez looked grim when he greeted Jake.

“Looking for Hawkins?”

Jake nodded. “Is he here?”

The front door opened, light spilling out in to the front yard. A familiar scent assailed his senses as well and he realized it was blood. Hawkins exited, closing the door behind him. “Jake.”

Jake was used to the one word greeting by now, but was surprised that Hawkins would use it. Hadn't they 'started a revolution' together? Hadn't he stood by the FBI agent's side when fuck all was the quid pro quo of the day?

“I was worried when I realized you weren't at the party. I saw Darcy there.”

Hawkins was vague, looking off in to the distance, when he answered. “Had some things to discuss. Needed some questions answered.”

Fully suspicious now, Jake took a few steps forward, stopping at the porch. “Questions about what?”

The two agents shared a look that made Jake very uneasy. After an extended glance in which they seemed to come to an agreement, Hawkins looked back at Jake. “Are you aware that you've had a Mossad agent working out of your town for years?”

Jake blinked. And then blinked again. And then laughed. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Hawkins shrugged and turned, heading back inside. “You'd best come and see for yourself. We may need your help to get the information we need.”

The three entered the cabin. As soon as he saw the situation, Jake gasped and held back the urge to vomit. This was too fresh; it was too much like being taken by Beck. Flashes of light behind his eyes and he was suddenly very very thirsty.

With his grandfather's voice echoing in his ears, Jake turned away and took several deep and calming breaths. Regaining his mental balance, Jake looked back at the figure sitting in the middle of the room.

The person looked female, if the clothing and body were an indication. Her head was down and she wasn't making any noise. There was blood splattered around the chair. Hawkins reached for her head and Jake really didn't want him to. Didn't want to see what had been done to her.

Despite the swollen cheeks and the eye that wasn't going to be opening again for a while, if ever again, Jake could recognize Angela MacDonald. Mac. Heather's new best friend after the abandonment of Emily.

“Is she-?”

“No, she's still alive. Just asleep. She broke my nose.”

Jake nodded, having noticed his bloodied face. He stared long and hard at Hawkins and then looked back down at Mac. “What the fuck is going on?”

Hawkins let her head dropped. “She's a Mossad agent. She's got a trailer on the other side of town with three fallout shelters built underneath it and an arsenal. You heard she was the one with a 50 caliber on a roof top, right? The one that decided to have an impromptu AS bar-b-q in the middle of Main Street.”

Joke nodded slowly, approaching Mac. They'd worked her over good. Aside from the facial damage, she had what looked like a dislocated shoulder along with bruised legs. He stepped to her side and winced at the sight of two broken wrists behind her back.

“And this was necessary?”

“Yes Jake. Until we find out what she's doing here.”

“You couldn't have just asked her politely? From what I heard in Texas there were almost a dozen Mossad agents planted in the States when the attacks happened. All have sided with the US, or Texas, and have been working with Columbus to clean this mess up. I even heard one of them managed to get in good with the Cheyenne government for a while and did a world of damage.”

Hawkins was unapologetic. “She refused to ID herself. When we asked her nicely she didn't even respond.”

“And what happened when you asked her not so nicely?”

His grin dark and disturbed, Hawkins looked down at the woman. “You can see for yourself. Now Jake, this was necessary-”

“No! Torture is never necessary.” He was silent for a moment, again trying to push down the memories of his own capture. Now, however, the images were peppered with soft words from the hospital and it made him furious at the whole situation.

“Jake-”

“Unlock her hands. Get her laid down on the bed.”

There was silence in the room. Chavez and Hawkins both stared at Jake. He refused to buckle under their glares. “Now. Uncuff her and put her on the bed. We don't torture people Hawkins!”

“The AS obviously didn't get that memo.”

Through gritted teeth, Jake spat out, “We are not the AS.” He took a step forward and held out his hand. “If you won't do it, give me the keys and I will. Please don't make me pick the lock.”

Hawkins was still for a moment before he reached in to his pocket and pulled out a key ring. He looked very irritated but unlocked the cuffs, showing care with their removal. Chavez helped him pick up the limp body and they deposited her on the bed. Jake crossed the room, standing shoulder to shoulder with the two.

“Now go home Hawkins. See your wife and your children. And take Chavez with you. I'm sure Darcy remembers him.” The venom in his voice was stinging.

Hawkins and Chavez shared a look over Jake's bowed head. They didn't offer any more contradictions, instead leaving the cabin.

Jake rubbed a tired hand over his face and sighed deeply. He had been so happy to come back home. Just to be here. To hug Emily and his mom and Eric. To see the smile on Heather's face that he knew would light up the room.

He sat down on the side of the bed and glanced over at Mac once more.

He'd only been gone nine days.


	2. Chapter 2

.-- . / -- ..- ... - / -... .-. .. -. --. / ... .- .-.. ...- .- - .. --- -. / -... .- -.-. -.-

In the cold pre-dawn hours the town of Jericho was silent and still as Jake Green drove the run down pick up through the streets. He drove slowly, not wishing to alert anyone to his presence with a revving engine.

He prayed violently that the woman propped against the passenger side door would remain unconscious until he reached the med center. Also that he'd be able to explain her condition.

A sigh broke loose from his throat and he knew that would be impossible. He couldn't even begin to explain her condition to herself. Nothing about the last few hours made much sense to him, especially the part about Heather's tech head friend being a Mossad agent or the fact that Hawkins had beat the ever loving shit out of her.

He glanced at the still form, relieved to see her face still relaxed in her sleeping state. At least the parts of her face that weren't swollen beyond recognition. As far as Jake was concerned, Hawkins had some explaining to do because this was wrong on every level possible.

A tiny memory at the back of his mind, of Hawkins' behavior in Texas and the Governor's Aide he'd made wet themselves, reminded Jake that his 'friend' could possibly considered a loose cannon. He also remembered tense moments in New Bern and the Sherriff he had been ready to torture himself. He shuddered and shook his head, clearing the memory.

He caught sight of the med center down the street and he breathed out in relief. Almost there. Checking to make sure Mac was still out, he proceeded to the front entrance and cut the engine. He regarded his ward. He didn't want to risk leaving her alone out here while he got help. She might be faking her unconscious condition and bolt given the first chance. He also didn't want to risk picking her up and carrying her.

It was like trying to decide how to best help a seriously injured wounded dog that might bite the hand that helps.

The situation was solved for him by Kenchy, who stumbled through the front doors in to the clean air, with a rare cigarette clutched in his fingers and ready to be lit. The Indian gave the pick up an appraising look; Mac's visage was clearly displayed against the window. He looked long and hard at the swollen face before raising the smoke to his lips and lighting with a box of matches he fished out of his doctor's coat.

Jake tried to smile as he climbed out of the truck and rounded the front to greet the doctor.

“Is that Angela Macdonald in there?” Kenchy's voice was level and calculated except when he spoke the woman's name. A slight hitch betrayed some emotion that Jake was unable to decipher. Kenchy took a few more hard drags off of the cigarette before throwing it to the gravel next to the side walk. “Let's get her inside then shall we? She looks horrible.”

Jake was relieved that Kenchy hadn't asked any more about her injuries, even when they pulled the broken body out of the vehicle. He drew in a sharp breath when her wrists came in to sight. Folding them gently over her chest, they maneuvered her between the two of them through the front door where a gurney waited.

As the doctor wheeled Mac away, Jake stopped him. “Make sure she's restrained. I'm not sure she won't wake up swinging, despite her injuries.”

Kenchy fixed him with a hard stare but still didn't voice any objection or confusion. He'd heard, just as well as the rest of the town, about Mac's feats the night of the AS invasion and was well aware that if hadn't been for this woman, he probably wouldn't be alive to continue his habitual drinking and sometimes doctoring. He nodded sharply and disappeared around a corner with his charge.

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Mary Bailey awoke with a gasp and a jerk, sending her arm flying in to the body next to her. She brought it back quickly, trying to avoid waking Eric, and pushed herself up in to a sitting position. Steadying breaths coursed through her as she tried to push the images that'd been haunting her subconscious and creating violent dreams away.

She'd been having nightmares for days. Since the burning of downtown and the slaughter of innocent civilians bloody bodies and screams had invaded her sleeping hours. She sniffled, realizing that her nose was running and her face was damp. Crying, again.

Her body was weighed down with the images. She turned and slid from the bed, her feet unsteady as they wound an uneven path through the darkened bedroom of her apartment and in to the hall. She stood for a moment, lost and unsure of what to do. She'd yet to find a good way to clear her head after one of these dreams.

She chose to lean against the hall wall, still breathing deep, and rubbed her face to dry it. It only succeeded in irritating her eyes more and she started crying again, almost soundlessly. Her legs gave out and she slid to the carpeted floor, her bottom half splayed as though she'd taken a hard hit to the chin.

She stayed that way until the dawn broke with the sound of song birds that offered slight cover for her soft sobs.

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Heather was still sleeping in the bed next to Beck when the morning nurse came to check on the Major. The woman was disheartened to have to wake the pair but needed to do her rounds. She stood at the door, unsure of her proper reaction, before smiling softly and backing out. She'd check the rest of the patients and come back at the end of her circuit, giving the pair another forty minutes of blissful sleep.

The click of the door woke the Major and he immediately pushed against the weight at his side before his eyes opened and he realized it was Heather. His face softened from irritation at being awake to adoration at the woman curled against him and he kissed her forehead softly. He hoped not to wake her yet desperately wished to see those beautiful eyes and that look of devotion she was sure to have.

His desire was answered with the fluttering of her eyelashes. She blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from them before fixing them on his face. Instantly she smiled, her sleepy grin making her entire face light up in joy at seeing him first thing.

“Good morning.” His voice was still scratchy from the breathing tube he'd had down his throat only a few days earlier.

“Hey handsome.” Heather's voice was scratchy too, from sleep. It made him smile even wider to hear her soft tones so close to his ear. And it caused a stirring in his loins, to feel her breath against his skin and to feel her body pressed to his.

Not the best of times for an erection however, he reminded himself. Instead, he shifted Heather off of his left arm and kissed her forehead. “Any big plans for today?”

“Besides getting you out of here? Not really.” She smiled at him impishly and squirmed, ever so slightly. Her thigh brushed his groin and he was helpless to hold back the groan her action caused. This made her smile even more.

“I don't know if that's likely. After all, I was just shot.”

“Your stats are good though. I heard the nurses talking last night and they said that if Kenchy clears it, they expect you back home today. So long as you have help. Which, you know, I'm more than willing to give.”

Her words filled his chest with warmth and he kissed her forehead again. “Well, I guess we'll just have to wait until we hear what Kenchy has to say then.”

They shared a soft look before the sound of running feet in the hallway distracted the both of them. Heather lifted her upper half off the bed and tried to crane her head to see what was going on. A loud metallic crash startled both of them and she bounded from the bed. Beck sat up but she motioned for him to lay back down.

“Relax, I'll go see what's going on.”

He gave her a curt nod and watched as she slipped on a robe and exited.

Once in the hallway, Heather paused and listened for the direction of the disturbance. A shout echoed from her right, from the triage rooms. A cold trickle of worry snaked its way up through her belly and in to the back of her throat. She could hear a woman screaming and it sounded an awful lot like Mac.

Heather cautiously peeked around the doorway and was shocked to find her friend strapped to a gurney with violent bruising on her face. Mac was straining furiously against the restraints, spewing angry words at Kenchy in a language Heather wasn't familiar with. Her friend cried out in anguish as Kenchy plunged a syringe into the IV drip leading to her arm and slowly administered some drug. Within moments Mac had fallen back to the bedding, unconscious.

Heather’s hands were shaking as they raised to her mouth. Mac face was mottled with black and blue as well as swelling patches or red. The hands cuffed to the metal bed frame were also swollen and disfigured. Broken, more than likely. “Kenchy, what happened?”

The doctor’s head whipped around at her voice. Heather knew her words were shaky. The concern in the Indian man’s face made her even more nervous and frightened. “It seems Miss MacDonald had a spot of trouble this evening. Jake didn’t fully explain when he dropped her off-“

“Jake?!”

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Emily awoke to the pleasant and missed sensation of a good cuddle. Her eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight her curtains never really blocked out and raised a hand. Her palm connected solidly with Jake’s forehead, completely on accident she assured him when startled awake. The pair stretched lazily for what felt like an hour before admitting that it was indeed daytime and it was in fact time to get moving.

Their morning shower was a much missed tradition that they indulged in for almost a half an hour before the pounding at the Green front door ripped them both back to the presence.

Jake had made it out of the shower and into the bedroom when the thundering footsteps of one Heather Lisinski were heard on the stairs. She came round the corner to the hallway at an almost-sprint and managed to run head first into Eminly, wrapped in a towel and heading for the bedroom her own self.

The two crumpled to the ground in a heap. Jake watched the whole interchange with bemusement until he remembered he was sort of angry at Heather. Angry that she’d been so quick to forgive Beck. Heather seemed less than pleased to see him as well and after helping Emily back to her feet, the brunette descended upon him.

“What in the name of all that’s good and holy did you _do_ to her Jake? She’s a mess! She looks like she’s been tortured-“ Her hands raised and she shoved him, _hard_. He allowed the shove to push him back into the bedroom where she followed yet. “What the hell happened to you? How could you-“

“Heather! What are you talking about?” Emily had regained her composure and placed a hand of censure on Heather’s shoulder. “Her, who?”

Heather’s brown eyes found her friend’s face for a moment before turning back on Jake. “When I woke up this morning Mac was in a triage room screaming her lungs out with a busted face and two broken hands. _Jake_ dropped her off, according to Kenchy.”

Two sets of accusing eyes turned on him now and Jake knew he was outnumbered. “Jake? What is she talking about?”

With a heavy sigh Jake dropped to the bed. Both hands raised to run through damp hair and he scratched at his forehead a moment, gathering his thoughts. He heard Heather take a step towards him. She looked like a tempest and Jake was suitably concerned with his safety, if only just a bit.

“She’s a spy, Heather.”

Whatever explanation the former teachers were expecting, that certainly wasn’t it. Jake watched Heather open her mouth, perhaps to question or to debate, but Jake could also see confusion and then understanding flit across her face. She raised a hand herself and rubbed her own forehead. “I’m going to go downstairs and wait for you two to get dressed.” Her tone was still expectant; she needed to know everything. Jake nodded and followed Heather with his eyes as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Emily immediately started to question but Jake quieted her with a wave of his hand. He’d tell them both at the same time.

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Kenchy worked quietly in the early morning. The sun had barely crested when he’d gotten the operating room prepped and ready for Angela MacDonald and the nurse assinting him was still working out the last of her yawns as he finished setting the bones in Angela’s left cheek.

She was a lucky woman to have been beat this way in Jericho. He didn’t know of any other former plastic surgeons turned town doctor in the state. The last of the sutures pulled the split skin over the bone back together with a precision that had made him famous in Las Vegas only a year ago.

The hands were a mess. He considered the left, free from its handcuff and useless to the unconscious woman in front of him. Four broken metacarpals, two fractured phalanges, and a fractured ulna. The right hand wasn’t as severe; only one fractured metacarpal and a fractured ulna. Thankfully all of the breaks were closed and only the left shoulder needed to be put back into place. Kenchy sighed and called for a scalpel.

He placed what pins he could in the metacarpals and realigned the phalanges. The ulna would heal on by itself and he started on the other hand. Once more his work was carful and meticulous, a testament to his training. He gets Angela MacDonald sewn up and bandaged in less than two hours.

God willing and patient careful the woman would regain full use of her hands and her face would heal just fine. He pulled the gloves from his hands and watched the gurney carrying the unconscious woman to recovery.

He really needed a drink.

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The world went to hell around them. Quiet and collected, Stanley had sat on the porch with his shotgun in his lap and a sad expression on his face when they’d heard the mortars in the night only three weeks prior. Mimi watched him from the house and catalogued the way his fingers had twitched with each blast.

Every fifteen seconds like clockwork.

She watched his fingers and remembered that this was the gun that hadn’t saved Bonnie.

That particular morning found the two of them eating breakfast and watching the sun climb its way across the sky. Their conversations had dissolved to practically nothing over the last few weeks and Mimi felt panicked. They were going to get married and she didn’t know exactly what all needed to be done for the occasion, but surely there was something they could be doing.

There was also the harvest to think of. Crops needed to be planted and without Bonnie she was going to have to learn how to be a farmer right quick. She needed to know how to drive the tractor, and how to load up the seed, and which of the fields were actually Stanley’s.

However every time she’d brought these concerns up in conversation with Stanley he’d shrugged his shoulders and brushed off her concern. The crops would be planted, he’d assured her as he’d found some reason to walk away from her.

She was worried about him and wondered if maybe this was just how he coped with tragedy. If perhaps he needed time. She could give him time, so long as war wasn’t hovering at their doorsteps. Which is was and they didn’t have the time. She needed him to come back to her.

She was deep in thought when Stanley cleared his throat and she realized that there was a familiar truck heading up the road to the farm. The pair watched Heather’s old truck as it sputtered its way over ruts and came to a stop next to Stanley’s vehicle.

Stanley was out of his seat and down the porch before Mimi realized that the man climbing out of the truck was Jake Green. The friends hugged as she followed Stanley. They unleashed a torrent of conversation and Mimi didn’t catch much past Texas and Hawkins and then Jake mentioned an Angela MacDonald. Stanley stilled at the name, his face visibly going pale.

“You say Hawkins did it?”

“I found them in hunting cabin last night. She was real messed up Stanley.” Both men watched each other’s faces for a long moment before Stanley slung an arm around Jake’s shoulders.

“Come have some coffee and tell me about Texas.”

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When she’d found consciousness once more, Mac was immediately aware that she was restrained and heavily drugged. Her arms were bound at the elbow and her hands felt impossibly heavy as though they were tightly wrapped. She took her time cataloguing all the other aches in her body as she allowed awareness to filter back into her brain.

She had tried to attack Kenchy. When she’d woken up on the operating table. At least that’s where she figured she’d been. The machines were a good indication. The crazy drunk doctor in scrubs and a mask terrified her more than the thought of being tortured again.

She didn’t think she’d let anything slip when she’d been drugged. They didn’t have access to the right kind of meds for that sort of slip of. She hoped.

Her eyes pried themselves open and she took stock of the room she was being held in. The recovery ward, then. She’d been out of surgery less than four hours. She did some mental math. She’d been out of contact with her people for almost twelve hours. HQ was expecting an update this morning and she sighed. It couldn’t be helped, she supposed.

A cough at the doorway brought her attention to the very same drunk Indian that she’d been cursing not too long ago. He gave her a critical look and entered the room. His eyes landed on her restraints; smart man, checking to make sure she was still secured.

“How are you feeling, Miss MacDonald?”

Her chuckled sounded forced. Which is was. “Like the inside of a not so pleasant place.” She pulled a little on her restraints and realized that her hands were in fact wrapped. She looked down at where her fingers should be, seeing only gauze and air casts. “How bad was it?”

Crossing the room, Kenchy picked up her chart and checked over her vitals before responding. When he did it was hard facts for her to bear. Injuries like these . . . in her line of work . . . she was going to be going back to Israel and soon. She let herself consider being stuck behind a desk.

“Full recovery should take around four to six weeks with proper rehab.”

“Full? That seems unlikely.”

He approached and took her chin in his hand. The skin he touched was sore and she winced. He looked her over, first the right and then the left. “If you stick with your therapy and avoid being totured again you should be okay. “ Her right eyebrow hit her hair line. Her left would have followed had that eye not been almost entirely swelled shut. “I’m very good at my job, Miss MacDonald.”

“When you’re sober, you mean.” She hadn’t meant for that comment to slip out. Immediately she clamped her lips shut, aggravating the cut there too. He didn’t even smell like booze.

She was doped out of her mind. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Kenchy’s face dropped into a scowl and he left go of her. “Get some sleep. You need the rest.”

For some reason she felt incredibly guilty. Must have been the morphine.


End file.
